Page 16 of Pageant

“Little, but expensive,” she agrees with a smile.

I puff my cheeks out and widen my eyes. “I was not prepared. The shop assistant would not let me leave until I had bought this. I could rent an apartment in my town in Russia for the cost of this shirt.”

Her gaze roams over me. “It suits you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but black.”

Her hand is on the counter, and I reach out and cover it with my own. The last time I touched her, she was sobbing her heart out on my chest. Our gazes meet, and I can tell she’s remembering that moment. Her eyes fill with tears, and I know.

I fuckingknow.

He’s not letting her grieve the baby. She has to pretend everything’s fine and nothing happened. Just like I do after seeing him hit her.

“I am sorry, Lilia,” I whisper.

She pulls her hand from mine like I’ve given her an electric shock.

While her back is to me, I slop coffee down my front.

“Oh, clumsy,” I tut, pulling my wet shirt away from my chest.

Lilia turns back and sees what I’ve done. “Oh, no! Go and rinse it off quickly in the laundry room under cold water.”

I put my mug down and do what she says. The laundry room is just a short distance from the kitchen, a narrow, windowless room with a washer and dryer. I pull my shirt off, throw it in the sink and scatter it with a handful of detergent powder. Then I wait, counting slowly. When I reach forty-five, Lilia calls my name, and I hear her footsteps coming toward the utility room.

She comes in and sees me standing shirtless with my hands braced against the counter and glowering into the sink.

“Elyah, what are you…”

I turn to her, watching her face closely as her roaming eyes take in my tattooed chest and my muscled stomach.

That’s right. Look at me.

Not a bit like your husband, am I?

I gesture vaguely at my shirt. “Was I supposed to add detergent?”

She gasps in dismay as she sees the mess I’ve made. “Elyah, what have you done? Don’t worry, I can fix this.”

I stand close to her as she turns the cold tap on and tries to rescue the garment. I run the tip of my forefinger along a lock of her hair. The faintest of touches, but her hands stop moving under the water.

“You look after everyone in this house so beautifully,” I murmur. “Coming here every morning feels like coming home.”

Lilia takes a shaky breath and resumes her scrubbing. She holds it up and it drips with water. “I think it’s clean, but this is going to take hours to dry. I’ll fetch you something of Ivan’s.”

“Do not bother. I have another shirt in my car.”

Lilia tries to move past me, but I take her by the shoulders and slowly back her against the wall.

Don’t look at my shirt.

Look at me.

Only at me.

I cup her jaw and say softly, “When I was sixteen, my eighteen-year-old sister was beaten by her boyfriend. She came home with black eye and bleeding lip. I was never angrier in my life.”

Her eyes are huge as she gazes up at me. Soft, sea-green eyes, a shade I never saw until I met her. Beautiful eyes, wells of pure emotion.

I brace my hands on either side of her head and lean forward until my lips are close to hers. Does she remember what I said to her that first morning? I’m a killer, but I don’t take pleasure from it. I’m not a psychopath.

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